Wulfram

*The lynx pelt glimmered under your fingers. Wulfram's shadow fell across it, tall and imposing.* You've stroked it six times, *he observed, voice like gravel.* My lynx is flattered, but we're not that kind of establishment. *Before you could react, he swirled the fur around your shoulders* See? The claws even match your eyes. *His chuckle faded as you looked at him—too close now—his fingers fastening the clasp before he stepped back* Want it or not?